


Feeling Our Way Blindly

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Community: 1_million_words, Crack turns Porny, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Relationship, with beer and cold meds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas isn't sure what he is to Dean, but he's afraid he has a pretty good idea what Dean feels when he looks at him. Dean's too sick to notice. Hurt/comfort in both directions ensues, along with their second time together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Our Way Blindly

Dean woke slowly, with a sensation of fighting through molasses.

Except the gunk wasn’t around him, it was all in his head; as in running through his nose, his sinuses, down the back of his throat -- hanging right there, burning at his ears.

“Aw, _shit_ ,” he sat up and sneezed four times, fast. 

He was frantically pulling tissues from the box as Sam walked into his room and sat on the edge of his bed, delivering soup.

“C’mon,” Sam nodded at the headboard, urging him to sit back. “Feed a cold, right?”

That was the thing – they never got colds. Or the flu. Now here Sam was, barely a week free of Zeke and that whole mess and he was nursing Dean for the common cold for the first time… ever? 

That’s what Dean intended to ask him next – wasn’t this just plain weird? But something else popped out instead.

“Where’s Cas?”

Sam translated based on the tone, the lowest pitched of his brother’s many worried rasps: _You’re_ bringing me soup, which means Castiel is not here ‘cause if he _were_ here he’d be bringing me the soup, so, where the hell is _Cas_?

“He went shopping,” Sam said it like it was the most obvious thing. “Thought you knew? He came by the library two hours ago and asked Kevin for a ride, said he had to go pick some things up for you…”

Dean had a vague memory of Cas coming into his room a while back. He generally, maybe, slightly recalled telling him to _shove the hell off_ , to go be needy somewhere else and let him _die in peace_ for fuck’s sake. 

“Uh-oh….”

Two hours? This couldn’t be good.

~*~

They didn’t get an answer on Cas’ phone or Kevin’s, either, and Dean wanted to go look. Sam convinced him to give it a few more minutes before they panicked.

The next time he woke up the empty bowl was gone from his nightstand and he heard a rustling of shopping bags at the foot of the bed. He sat up enough to see Cas rummaging through one of several he’d set on the floor by the chair along the wall.

“Here,” he brought Dean a family size bottle of liquid cold meds. “And…this. Take this, too.”

“I don’t know…” Dean looked from the cold stuff in one hand to the cold beer in the other. “Think it’s a good idea? Nyquil before beer, never fear?”

“With the amount you drink? I don’t think pouring one malt beverage over anything will kill you. And maybe you’ll sleep the rest of your illness away.”

Cas was sitting on the chair now, rifling through the bags again as Dean glared at the editorial content in his statement, peeling the plastic off the shorter, fatter bottle.

“What else did you waste our rapidly vanishing grocery money on?”

“The meds are for your body. The rest is for your very bad, cranky, piss-poor attitude…” 

Dean felt one of his eyebrows going up. The boy was getting good with the lingo.

Cas plopped a pair of oversize, plastic glasses on his head, complete with bushy eyebrows and mustache. It came with a plastic cigar that he clenched jauntily in his teeth, squinting and grinning and looking around for effect.

Dean couldn’t help the half a smile and thick, wet snort it got out of him before he downed a long belt of the green gunk.

“Dude, you look… ridiculous. Groucho doesn’t chew on a stogie, not that way. He waves it around between his fingers and his thumb.”

“Of course…” Cas monotoned, quickly adapting his pose. “I was aware of that. I was testing your…brain reflexes.”

“Shoulda started with something less ambitious,” Dean suggested, taking a sip of the beer. “Like Larry, Moe or Curly, maybe….”

“Uh-uh,” Cas ditched the glasses and dug in the bag. “Marx Brothers. No Stooges. I don’t find the Stooges amusing at all.”

“Shocking.”

“How about…this….” Cas pulled out a tall, pointed white cap flowing with long, pink satin streamers.

“Son of a …put that _away_. Cas, I’m serious, do _not_ let that touch your head because if you do and I _see_ it I can never un-see it. No, no, n..…”

“Damsel in distress…” he plopped it on, tugged it down tight and turned, holding one side to his head as he shook the streamers around, chin tilting up, eyes batting.

“Fuck, _fuck_ … fu…” Dean accidentally snorted some of the beer, which surprisingly, did a great deal to break up the crud. He blew into a fist full of tissues. “If you don’t take that off now, I’m never touching you again. Ever.”

“I was thinking maybe your friend Charlie could use it for her lurping,” Cas pulled it off and folded the satin, rummaging in the bags once more. “….if she comes back.”

“It’s LARPing. I think she’d appreciate it more on a girlfriend than she’d wanna wear it herself, but yeah – hold onto it. Just never put it on again. I am not kidding about that.”

“The piece-de-resistance…” He started pulling something else out and Dean leaned back on his elbows, shook his head, eyes going to the ceiling.

“Tell me that’s not just French for awesome, it means ‘final’ too. It does, right?”

“My eyes are down here, Dean,” Cas had been practicing putting a little something suggestive in his voice and apparently it worked; Dean stopped rolling his eyes at the roof and bit his lip, legs shifting around under the covers.

Cas smiled as Dean looked slowly over at him and then broke into paralyzing laughter, flopping back but keeping his head up, gaze locked on the blue bunny ears that were two feet tall if they were an inch. 

He stood up and raised his arms in victory, flipping one of the ears down at a jaunty angle and spinning to give Dean a good look from all sides.

Turning also served the purpose of not letting Dean see how he was involuntarily tearing up a little at that laugh – rough with germs but deep, rolling, so rich and … light. Beautiful.

“Cas, come here…” he said when he could. “No, wait – one step back, take off the ears and put ‘em down. Faster. Good. Now come here. No… two steps back, lose the shirt and pants and… much faster. Then come here….”

Dean watched that process with a more intense interest than he had any of the hats, holding up the covers as he joined him, pulling him close and tangling their legs.

“Why’d you buy that crap? Is it what you went shopping for?”

“No, I was going for the supplies… but Kevin spotted the costume store…” Cas explained between the shallow but wet kisses Dean was planting on his lips, his cheeks. “….and… well, they had the intended effect. Also…. sometimes….”

He stopped, looking for the right words.

“Sometimes what, baby?”

“You’re embarrassed by me. And I thought a little extra, uh, absurdity might help. You know. Lessen the impact. When I’m absurd in public.”

He watched Dean lay back, eyes darkening, and for a second he was afraid maybe he’d destroyed the good mood.

“You make me feel a bunch of things, Castiel. Embarrassed isn’t anywhere on the list, not these days if it ever was. You fly your beautiful freak flag exactly where you want, when you want, and don’t worry about me. Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.” He didn’t want to admit he wasn’t entirely clear what a freak flag was or how he could already be in possession of one and not know it, so he decided to let it go. “I will.”

Cas silently rid himself of his boxers and started to do the same for Dean, gasping a soft protest when Dean batted his hand away and started kissing over Cas’ collar bone, his ribs, his abs. “Wait, I.. no, _wait_ I’ve only ever.. uh, _given_ , I haven’t yet rec….”

“About time, then,” Dean was cupping Cas’ balls with one hand, trailing the other slowly upward, fingertips sweeping over his skin as his mouth moved further down, nipping at the slight, soft convex of his belly. “Haven’t done this in a while, so… no grading me on form.”

“I don’t…. _mmmnnn_ … think I’ll last long enough to judge. Uhhhhh…”

Dean was running the tip of his tongue in slow, maddening circles around Cas’ cock head now, and oh… he wanted to push inside, wanted to lean up and watch. But Dean’s arm was holding him down and _why_ was that so _hot_ , Dean pinning him with his arm, the heel of his hand?

“In a hurry?” Dean gave him a little more, taking in the top third of his dick, the hand around his balls leaving to wrap around the base, to stroke him lightly in time with the warm, deep sucks he was applying and Castiel made a long, lost sound between a groan and a sob he was glad no one else would hear.

“Ohhhh…so good….” he dug in his heels, hips pushing up on their own accord and good was inadequate, was a pathetic attempt to quantify this… gift he never knew was coming.

He tried to ride it, managed to make it last longer than he’d even hoped, then found himself unconsciously channeling Dean’s ‘I’m coming’ words as he lost the battle with insistent, widening, aching pleasure. “Fuuuck, yeah, _suuuck_.. me, suck it, yesssss…”

The words seemed to drive Dean and he groaned, head bobbing, making it nice and sloppy as he hummed and … ohhh… _growled_ around him and that was it; Cas let the waves slam both up and down through him, heard his words turn to babble, felt Dean swallowing hard once, twice as he came with a shout.

“Son of a…” Dean’s voice was raw when his mouth popped clear, and Cas watched through bleary, half-open eyes as Dean crawled up to his knees, tugged his own boxers down around his thighs and stroked himself off all over the sheets, mouth falling open and eyes shut tight.

Watching that happen - Dean driven over the edge purely from making him come in his mouth? Cas hadn’t felt that powerful in some time.

~~*~~

The next time Dean woke up he was alone.

He searched up sweatpants and a t-shirt and went to the kitchen. They were all there; Sam reading the paper he’d already picked up, Castiel eating an apple, Kevin picking at scrambled eggs. 

“You seem…perkier.” Sam said after a quick glance. 

“Yeah. Think I kicked it,” Dean stood behind Cas, who looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to do and on an impulse he ran his fingers through Cas’ untamed bed head, leaned in to run his nose against his scalp, to plant a kiss. “Feeling great.”

Cas went loose under him, silent, but Dean could feel his relief. Sam and Kevin’s eyes stayed firmly down. 

“Breakfast?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, I’ll get…”

“No, sit,” He got up, heading for the stove. “I’m done.”

Dean sat and looked from Kevin to Sam, Sam to Kevin, then gave Sam a kick.

“What?” Sam said. 

Cas sneezed loudly into the sleeve of his shirt, snuffled and then sneezed again.

Sam’s eyes shot to Kevin’s, grinning. Kevin bit back a snort.

“Sorry, Castiel,” Dean said.

The nice thing was, that’s as close as they all had to come to discussing it, ever. 

They just were, now.


End file.
